“What’s that?” politely asked Tommy, as he awakened, when he heard his sister speaking. “What’s the matter, Mary?”
“Are we home yet?” asked Johnny, in his sleepy voice, and he cuddled down farther into the warm straw.
“No, we’re not home, as far as I can see,” answered Mary, looking out of the wagon again, “but everything is sailing past me so very fast—trees, and houses and people and telegraph poles and——”
“Why, it’s us that are sailing!” cried Tommy, when he had taken a peep. “It’s just like riding in a railroad train, when you look out of the window, and you see everything flying past—horses and cows and sheep and farms and fences and trees and telegraph poles and everything. We are moving, Mary, and not the things on the street.”
“That’s right!” said Johnny, when he had peered out.
“Oh, my goodness!” cried Mary. “Then the milkman’s horse must be running away with us, and the milkman isn’t here! Just take a look, Tommy dear, and see if it isn’t so.”
So Tommy looked, and then he cried out:
“Say, I should think he was running away! He’s going so fast that you can’t notice his legs move.”
“Really?” asked Mary.
“Look for yourselves and see,” invited Tommy, so Mary and Johnny looked, and, surely enough, the horse was running as fast as he could along the street, pulling the milk wagon after him, and the three Trippertrot children were inside, down in the warm straw.